


Boomerang

by Mari_Marie



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - No Powers, Angst with a Happy Ending, Artist Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Brief suicide attempt in the beginning, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Even briefer suicide in the end (not Joe or Nicky), Gun Violence, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Soft Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani, Soft Nicky | Nicolò di Genova, They both need a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-13
Updated: 2020-12-13
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:06:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,027
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28048182
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mari_Marie/pseuds/Mari_Marie
Summary: Nicky is supposed to be exchanging vows at a lakeside venue, not running toward Joe. But Joe doesn’t question it. When a boomerang returns, you grab it.Or: the one where Nicky leaves a man at the altar to return to the man he never should have left
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 6
Kudos: 95





	Boomerang

**Author's Note:**

> Please mind the trigger warnings in the tags. If you want to skip the attempted suicide, start reading at, "Joe considers the idea, then blinks as something moves in his rearview."

He expects it to be different in the end.

It’s not.

He feels the same numbness that has plagued him for months, is haunted by the same regrets.

_If you love something, set it free. If it returns, it’s meant to be._

It was a romantic notion until reality had called Joe’s bluff.

Nicky had not returned – not his texts, not his calls, not his letters. His silence only making sense when Joe had heard about the engagement.

“Wow,” Booker had said when Joe had told him, had blinked like he didn’t know what else to say.

Which was just as well. There was nothing to say. Nicky was gone and soon Joe would be, too. Within the hour if the Internet could be trusted.

He glances at the hose dangling over the edge of the window like a venomous snake coughing its toxic vapors in his face. Its other end is stuck in the car’s exhaust pipe, and although carbon monoxide isn’t how Joe imagined he would go, it’s better than the other options he had browsed. He sighs, wondering how long it will take for someone to find him after this is done. The field is remote. That’s the whole point. He doesn’t want to be disturbed or stopped, but he _does_ want to be found. His eyes burn with threatening tears as he pictures Nicky’s reaction when he hears the news. Joe knows he will blame himself – of course he will – but the final letter Joe had delivered that morning was meant to erase all misplaced guilt. He only hopes Nicky will believe him.

Joe glances again at the hose, second-guessing his decision. 

“You are so fucking dramatic sometimes,” Andy would tell him, and he knows she’s right.

Only a minute or so has passed. There’s still time to change his mind. Time to drive across town. Time to interrupt the ceremony.

Joe considers the idea, then blinks as something moves in his rearview. He leans closer to the mirror, confused by what he’s seeing. Nicky is supposed to be exchanging vows at a lakeside venue, not running toward him. But Joe doesn’t question it. When a boomerang returns, you grab it. He opens the door, emerging from the driver’s side in a cloud of fumes as Nicky reaches the passenger side – dressed in a tux, his hair a mess, his beautiful eyes red and wet. For a brief moment, Joe wonders how he found him.

They stare at each other before Nicky turns. Joe follows his gaze, watching as a crowd – the wedding party, the guests – appears on the horizon behind them. Nicky turns back to Joe, his expression saying it all.

Joe nods and rounds the rear of the car, yanking the hose from the exhaust pipe as Nicky does the same with the end wedged between the window and the doorframe. The length of rubber is abandoned in the grass as they both duck into the car. They exchange another glance – wondering just who is saving who – before Joe stomps on the gas.

Nicky’s name floats behind them in another man’s voice, then disappears in the dust, swallowed by the echoing _fuck_ screamed as the groom realizes his new reality – Nicky is gone.

Joe knows the feeling but spares no sympathy because Nicky is back where he belongs. As he drives, he splits his attention between the crowd growing smaller behind them and his future sitting beside him.

Nicky leans forward, covering his face with both hands before running his fingers through his hair. He’s shaky and overwhelmed and accepts Booker’s forgotten flask when Joe offers it. He drinks long and deep, then tosses it to the backseat, exchanging it for a random sock among the heap of junk that has accumulated back there. He slips it over his hand and up his arm, creating a sock puppet. The corner of his mouth twitches at the memory, at the inside joke between them, and reaches across the space to animate the puppet inches from Joe’s face.

Joe twitches his own smile and turns his head, struck by how funny life is – how he should be dying alone and Nicky should be marrying another, yet here they are. Together. Just like old times. Just like they’re meant to be.

Miles pass in comfortable silence. Nicky falls asleep an hour into their trip, and Joe stares at him longer than he should while still driving a car. He can’t help himself.

It’s dark when they arrive at Joe’s place. He holds the door for Nicky, then pulls out a chair at the kitchen table. Nicky sits, ducking his head with a shy smile when Joe leans against the counter and continues to stare at him as though he’s waiting for Nicky to disappear, for this to all be a dream. 

When several minutes tick by and Nicky remains, Joe goes to the bedroom and returns with a duffel of clothes – Nicky’s clothes that Joe couldn’t bear to see in his closet but couldn’t bear to part with, either.

Nicky smiles that barely-there smile and sorts through the bag. He crosses to the bathroom at the end of the hall, and when he emerges, the tux has been replaced with loose-fitting jeans and a well-worn t-shirt.

He’s stunning. Breathtaking in his gorgeous simplicity.

They stand in each other’s space – hesitant at first, then easy and familiar. Joe leans his forehead against Nicky’s and holds his gaze; those piercing eyes focused solely on him. Nicky nuzzles into Joe’s touch, then follows him to the backroom studio. 

It’s cramped and cluttered. Nothing special. There’s a table stained with paint. Another smaller table covered with brushes and used, rolled-up tubes of bright oils. Its walls are lined with shelves of old books. 

Nicky hums at the happy memories here. So many lazy weekends spent together, him reading while Joe painted. But his joy fades when he realizes why Joe brought him here now. He crosses to the canvases hanging on the far wall and frowns at the harsh brushstrokes, the dark color palette of black and deep reds. Joe’s pain is bleeding across the canvas, and Nicky knows he is the reason – _was_ the reason. He smooths his fingers over the globs of paint dried hard and rough and looks at Joe standing in the doorway.

Joe stares at the floor, glancing up when he feels Nicky’s attention return to him.

Nicky’s eyes mist, but Joe shakes his head.

They will talk about what happened. The months apart. The mistakes and misunderstandings. But not now. Not tonight. Tonight they are alive and together, and that’s what matters. All that matters.

Joe holds out his hand to Nicky and smiles when those long fingers wrap around his.

They share a meal, then share a bed. When Joe wakes in the morning, Nicky is the first thing he sees, already awake and smiling.

Joe smiles back.

Neither have said a word since reuniting, but then again, words were never needed between them.

As they dress, a balled-up sock bounces off the side of Joe’s head, and he turns to see Nicky gifting him with a rare grin. So pure and radiant. Brighter than the sun, more precious than the stars. He laughs as he rolls his eyes. _Always with the socks…_

They drive to the beach and stay until dusk. Toes in the sand, fingers intertwined. When the moon begins to rise, they huddle together beneath her light, kissing slow and gentle.

They arrive home after dark, and as Joe sits at the kitchen table, Nicky approaches from behind, hugging him and kissing his temple. It’s the safest he’s ever felt, the most loved.

That night, they sleep tangled together. The next morning when Joe wakes, Nicky has shifted to his stomach, his bare back exposing his secret. Joe frowns and lifts to his elbow, easing the sheet further down to reveal the full truth.

The bruises are in varying stages. Some are the muted yellow, green, and brown of healing. Others are the vibrant red, blue, and purple of recent infliction. The colors could be featured in one of his paintings, but they’re not. They’re marring the smooth, pale skin of Nicky’s back, and Joe’s jaw clenches with instant rage.

He thinks about the past few months, thinks about how much he suffered and realizes now that Nicky suffered, too. Did he even know Joe had tried to contact him? What if the texts, calls, and letters had somehow been intercepted? Or what if Nicky had tried to reply and this was the consequence? Was the engagement a consequence as well – penance for perceived betrayal?

Joe’s mind buzzes. His soul aches. He keeps his touch light and careful as he ghosts his fingers over each bruise, watching as Nicky stirs and rolls over. He blinks up at Joe, somehow looking both vulnerable and indestructible. His expression is cautious, _fragile_ when he shakes his head.

Joe nods, knowing he’s right. Details are irrelevant. Nothing could ever justify what Nicky endured, and Joe would never ask him to relive it by answering his questions. Nicky is here and safe, and _that_ _’s_ what matters. All that has ever mattered. He sighs and cups Nicky’s face, marveling at the depth of forgiveness, kindness, and strength in this man he loves. The world is not worthy.

They kiss, lingering in the moment. Silent promises exchanged in rustled sheets.

Afterwards, they eat breakfast, then drive to the pier – the one they frequented before everything went to shit. Returning now seems symbolic.

They walk hand-in-hand as the seagulls call above. It’s a peaceful, content morning until the shot rings out.

Joe goes down first, and Nicky is too stunned to yell, too stunned to move. He watches in horror as Joe’s body jerks under the bullet’s impact, his hand slipping from Nicky’s grasp as he falls.

Nicky is next, the second bullet ripping through his stomach. He makes a guttural sound and falls beside Joe, though not within reach. He turns his head in time to see the man he left at the altar shove the gun in his own mouth and pull the trigger.

People are screaming at the carnage, yet they sound far away.

Nicky closes his eyes and drifts toward whatever is pulling him, comforted by images of him and Joe over the past few days – the beach, their shared smiles, those tender kisses. Maybe they won’t have forever together, but at least they had the past few days. At least Joe held him while he slept the last two nights of his life.

Crimson stains the boards of the pier as Joe ignores the fiery pain searing through his side and drags himself closer to Nicky. Their blood smears together as he grabs the limp hand stretched toward him. He squeezes, relieved when Nicky’s eyes flutter open.

Nicky stares at him. His inhalations wet and gurgled from the blood filling his throat.

Joe increases the pressure of his grip, urging Nicky to stay, _refusing_ to let him go.

Not like this. _Not like this._

The man who took Nicky from him once will not take him forever.

It’s the last thing Joe remembers before waking up in the hospital. He panics when he sees the empty bed across from his and demands to know where Nicky is, demands an update on his condition, demands to see him.

The nurse claims to know nothing and leaves the room.

Hours crawl by with no news, and although Joe is frustrated and pissed, he is not sad. He would know if Nicky had died. He would _feel_ it.

Wouldn’t he? 

He knows he would, yet despair begins to creep in as he sits in the wheelchair, staring out the window and wondering what the hell he’s going to do. His answer comes when another wheelchair is rolled behind his and two arms wrap around him, one covered with a sock – a sock _puppet_.

Joe smiles and chuckles even as tears sting his eyes. “Always with the socks, habibi…” he whispers and hears Nicky’s muffled laugh as he buries his face in Joe’s neck.

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by the video for "High Hopes" by Kodaline


End file.
